


and the wolves all cry

by miladys



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a happy-ish ending, Bittersweet, Character Death, Children, F/M, Family, Jonerys, Most of these involve Jonerys babies cause we all know she's totally getting pregnant, One Shot Collection, Post-Episode: s07e07 The Dragon and the Wolf, Post-season 7, Vignette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-03 23:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12157308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miladys/pseuds/miladys
Summary: “If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story."Or, five ways it could all end for Jon and Daenerys.





	and the wolves all cry

**Author's Note:**

> So these are five various what ifs about how Game of Thrones will end for Jon and Daenerys. I have to warn you that none of them are extremely fluffy or happy - George RR Martin has said ASOIAF will have a bittersweet ending, and I think "bittersweet" is a good way to describe all five of these stories. They're not necessarily what I think will happen, just different scenarios. Also, not every Game of Thrones character is going to appear in every chapter, because with each chapter I had to fit a complete story in less than 10,000 words or so. There are some chapters where major characters don't appear at all just for the sake of brevity. 
> 
> This is my first time writing fanfiction EVER so I hope you enjoy and I appreciate your honest feedback.

**i.**

He wakes up to find her spot in bed beside him empty. She’s been having trouble sleeping lately due to her ever-expanding waistline and the little person sandwiched between her ribs, and he calls her name out softly into the darkness of their bedchamber.

He wraps a robe around himself and goes to investigate, finding her standing by an open window, staring out at King’s Landing below with both hands cradling her swollen belly. He walks up behind her and wraps both arms around her body, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You are the most beautiful woman in all of the Seven Kingdoms. Nay, all the world…”

Daenerys laughs softly and turns around, her stomach brushing against his. She takes his hand and places it over the spot where their unborn child moves inside her. “Your daughter was keeping me up again with all of her kicking.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon jokes with her. “I think you meant to say son…”

In the dim light, he can see her roll her eyes. “You are incorrigible…” He laughs and kisses her nose.

(He teases her, but secretly he doesn’t care whether their child is a boy or a girl. He wouldn’t mind at all having a daughter, one who looks like her mother…He fantasizes about it sometimes, actually.)

“I had a dream that she was a girl,” Daenerys tells him.

“Did you now?”

“Yes. And she had my hair, but your eyes…”

“Is this the first time your dreams have ever been wrong?”

She slugs him on the arm, but only in jest. “Oh stop it!”

They’re both laughing now and she tilts her head back so that he can kiss her, their lips melting together slowly but then with increased fervor. “My love,” He murmurs. “I desire you.”

“You do not have to desire me," She says. "For I am already yours…”

Things are getting more heated and he gently pushes up her nightdress,. He’s heard some men say that they can’t stand to lay with their wives while they are pregnant, but he burns for her even more now…

But abruptly Daenerys pulls away from their kiss. “Jon?”

“What is it?”

“I think our child is coming.”

**ii.**

The midwives kick him out of the room.

The baby’s too early. He knows that. Daenerys’s confinement hasn’t even begun yet. He isn’t worried at first – Daenerys seems fine, just breathing through her pains and holding his hand.

But things in life can change so fast.

He remembers the sound of Dany’s scream, how she cried out for the midwives, saying something wasn’t right. He remembers all the blood as it poured out of her, staining her white shift. And then the midwives kicked him out of the room.

He thinks he knows, deep in his gut, what is going to happen. But as he paces back and forth outside the chamber, waiting for someone to give him news, he keeps hoping that he’s wrong.

After what feels like days, he hears the soft crying of a baby and his heart clenches. _He has a child. A child with Daenerys_. But then he realizes that he doesn’t hear Dany anymore. When had he stopped hearing her? 

The head midwife comes out, and there’s a frown on her face. She says the words that confirm his horrible suspicions. “I’m sorry Your Grace, but…” And just like that his universe shatters.

They let him see her. She’s lying down on the bed, and he can almost pretend that she’s sleeping. Her eyes are closed, her arms folded over her stomach, and they’ve exchanged her bloody shift for a pale blue dress. But when he presses his lips to her forehead, she’s cold.

Daenerys was always warm.

He tries to remember her last words to him. The last words she would ever say to him, but he didn’t know it at the time. _I love you._ He realizes. That’s what they were. She’d yelled it after him as the midwives forced him from the birthing room.

One of the younger midwives brings over a bundle of blankets, and Jon loses his breath when he sees silver blonde curls peeking out. “The Queen got to hold her before she passed. I just thought you should know that.”

 _Her._ Their daughter.

The midwives leave the room and he sits by the bed, getting to look at his daughter’s face for the first time, her tiny nose, her rosebud lips, her perfect chin. She has the Targaryen looks – silver hair, alabaster skin – but when she opens her eyes they are grey like his.

“Rhaella,” He whispers. It was the name they had agreed on for a girl.

He turns to his wife and takes her lifeless hand in his, just as the first tear slips from his eye. “Oh Dany,” He whispers. “I wish that we could’ve had one moment together with the three of us. Just one.”

But alas, it is not meant to be. 

**iii.**

It’s Sansa’s idea to have her buried at Winterfell.

Jon and Daenerys discussed many things in the days before the war, including their own potential deaths, but she never mentioned to him where she wanted to be buried. Maybe she thought that if they fell in battle there would be no one left to bury her. Maybe it slipped her mind. He doesn't know, and he can't exactly ask her now. 

It feels wrong to lay her to rest with her mad father or the old dragon skulls, but he doesn’t know where else to go. That’s when Sansa writes to him, mentioning Winterfell.

“She was your wife, and therefore she was a Stark,” She says. “There will always be a place for her here.”

Winterfell was where Daenerys told him she was with child, where they placed their conjoined hands over her small belly and promised to love each other for eternity. It was where he proposed to her and where they married. Now it will be where Daenerys rests too. He hopes that after all the battles she’s fought and the losses she's suffered, she can finally be at peace.

So the procession takes the Queen’s cremated ashes, the King and the newborn Princess, as well as the rest of the court up to Winterfell. Along the way peasants rush to stand beside the Kingsroad and watch them pass, crying and paying their respects to their fallen Queen. Jon holds Rhaella in his arms for practically the entire journey. She rarely ever cries.

On their way, the sun comes out. Spring is upon them. It seems wrong. 

When they arrive at Winterfell, Sansa, Arya and Bran are waiting by the gates to meet them. Arya rushes for him, her cheeks wet, and they just hold each other for a long time. Sansa takes the baby and bounces her up and down in her arms, kissing the top of the newborn’s head as she too weeps. Bran is at a loss for words, because even he doesn’t know what the future holds anymore.

After Daenerys’s ashes are laid to rest in the crypt, Jon goes up to the same room his dead wife slept in while she was here - it feels like so long ago now. The servants bring up an old cradle for Rhaella to sleep in, the same one that held Bran and Rickon once upon a time. Arya stands by the fire while Jon sits, her arm resting on the mantle. Sansa is off finding some task to occupy herself with and Bran has ventured off to the godswood, as he often does. From the crib, Rhaella mewls softly.

Jon reaches out to rock her gently and then goes back to staring at the flames. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when I go back to King’s Landing.”

Arya is silent for a minute. “You don’t have to go back to King’s Landing. Not if you don’t want to.”

“Of course I have to. I’m the King.”

 _The King._ He never wanted to be King. Not without Daenerys.

“Exactly, you’re the King.” Arya emphasizes. “Jon, you should be home right now. We can help you.”

“But the capitol –”

Arya doesn’t let him finish. “Is wherever you say it is. Tyrion can look after the South for you, but you belong here, with your family.” She glances at Rhaella. “ _She_ belongs with her family.”

He looks at his daughter, sleeping peacefully in her cradle, so oblivious to everything that’s going on around her. He’s lost so much, but she’s still here. He has to go on, for her, and he has to love her enough for two parents now.

He resolves that after his mourning period ends, he will make sure his girl – his little dragon girl – has the best life possible. 

The court never leaves Winterfell.

**iv.**

At Winterfell, they settle into a routine over the next four years.

Jon generally keeps a small court, just a few close friends, advisors, servants and guards. Sansa is still the Lady of Winterfell, and she has no intention of marrying again, so Winterfell will be merged with the crown upon her death. Bran remains at Winterfell, though he never quite goes back to the way he was, and after a year Arya announces that she’s going to travel the Kingdoms with Gendry. (She still insists that they’re just friends, but Jon doesn’t believe that for a second.)

He makes Davos the new Lord of Dragonstone, in thanks for all his service, and he sends Daenerys’s two remaining dragons with him when he leaves for the island. He can’t bear to look at them, not now, maybe not ever. Sam comes to Winterfell as the new maester after the death of Wolkan, and he brings Gilly and Little Sam with him. Jorah stays on as a member of Jon’s Kingsguard (mostly out of loyalty, but also because he knows Lyanna Mormont would never let him hear the end of it if he returned to Bear Island) and though Jon offers to find Missandei a place in the South (because he knows she does not like the Northern weather) she refuses. “Queen Daenerys made me promise to look out for you,” She tells him stubbornly. “And that is what I will do, until my last breath leaves me.” So he decides to place her in charge of the young princess’s care, managing her nurses and their expenses, and that satisfies her. He trusts her to know how Daenerys would've wanted things. 

For these four years, Rhaella truly is the center of his life. She’s more important to him than being King, even. He brings her into councils and meetings, letting her sit on his lap, and no matter what he’s doing he always makes sure to tuck her in at bedtime. He teaches her how to read and ride horses. He does it all because Rhaella is the thing that he has to fight for now, and she’s the thing that makes his life worth living.

(And also because he knows that Daenerys would do all of those things, if she were here.)  

One night, during the fourth year of spring, he walks into Rhaella’s chamber and finds Missandei by herself, laying out the princess’s clothes for the next day. “Princess Rhaella isn’t here right now, Your Grace. One of her nursemaids took her out for a walk before bed…”

“Actually, Missandei, I came here to see you.” The woman’s eyebrow goes up in surprise. “I was wondering if…if you could teach me how to do Rhaella’s braids.”

“Pardon me, Your Grace?”

“It’s simply I…I used to brush Dany’s hair sometimes. I thought maybe I could do the same with Rhaella.” He bites his lip, realizing how foolish he sounds. “I’m sorry, it was a stupid idea. Forget I asked…”

Missandei effectively cuts him off when she steps forward and places her hand on his arm. “It’s not stupid, Your Grace. In fact, I think it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. Come, we’ll practice with the princess’s dolls first…”

~

Later, he lightly raps on Rhaella’s bedchamber door and steps inside to find her dressed for bed, one of her maidens running a brush through her hair. “May I come in?”

Rhaella turns around and her face lights up. “Papa!” She jumps up and runs to him, startling the handmaiden and causing her to drop the hairbrush. Jon laughs as Rhaella throws her arms around his neck and he lifts her into his arms.

He looks to the handmaiden. “That will be all for tonight, Mae – I’ll finish getting the princess ready for bed myself.”

Once the girl is gone, Rhaella looks to him. “You’re early tonight, Papa.”

“I know, I know, I just wanted to spend more time with my favorite girl. Come, I’ll finish your hair and you can tell me all about what you did today.”

He places her down on the edge of the bed and sits behind her, picking up Mae’s discarded hairbrush. “Maester Sam and I read another book today. About Aegon the Conqueror.” She wrinkles her nose. “Is that how you say it, Papa? Egg-in?”

Jon chuckles. “No, my little dragon girl. It’s pronounced Ay-gone.”

“ _Aegon_ ,” Rhaella repeats. “Papa, don’t the lords call you Aegon?”

“It’s very complicated, my girl. I’ll explain it all to you when you’re older.”

Rhaella nods to herself, silent for a few moments as Jon finishes brushing her hair and separates it into sections. Rhaella always sleeps with her hair in a braid, because the older she gets the curlier her hair becomes, and it’s wild in the morning without a braid. “I like it when you do my hair, Papa.”

“I like it very much too.” He pauses for a moment, examining his work. Not bad for someone who just learned a few hours ago. “You know, your mother had hair just like this.”

Rhaella’s grey eyes light up with glee. “And everyone says Mama was pretty!”

“Yes,” Jon says, tugging on her now finished braid. “And you’re pretty too, just like her.”

He braids her hair every night after that, and it’s the best part of his day.

**v.**

Rhaella is six when she begins asking him to teach her to shoot. It takes two years for her to finally wear him down, but finally he thinks she’s ready.

Some of the lords advise him that it’s a bad idea, but he won’t hear it. Because even though his daughter is only eight, and even though she’s a girl, she’s very mature for her young age and very, _very_ determined. So eventually Jon begins to take her out to the courtyard after his council meetings, showing her how to shoot a bow. Rhaella is a fast and eager learner, and he knows it won’t be long until she’s shooting bullseyes.

So, when he takes her out one afternoon and she shows no interest, it’s strange.

“You need to stand up straighter,” Jon tells her gently. “Shoulders back. Head high. Now try again.”

Rhaella readjusts her position and shoots. The arrow lands three feet short of the target.

Now, Jon knows something is wrong. Rhaella’s aim has been near perfect for the last several times they’ve practiced, but today she seems so unfocused. He crouches down, so that he’s eye level with her. “Rhaella, sweetheart, is everything all right?”

She nods her head. “Yes, Papa. I’m sorry, I’ll try again…” She reaches for another arrow but he places a hand on her arm, stopping her.

“Is something bothering you, Rhaella?”

“No, Papa.”

“What did I say to you about lying?”

Rhaella looks away and Jon reaches out to brush a hair out of her face, but when his hand comes into contact with her forehead it makes him flinch.

“Sweetheart, you’re burning up. Are you unwell?”

“No Papa, I’m fine. Let’s keep practicing, please…”

“Clearly you’re not fine. Come on, let’s go inside and – ”

But before he can finish, his daughter takes one step forward and promptly faints into his arms.

~

Rhaella is unconscious by the time Jon carries her into her bedchamber. As he places her down on her bed, he can feel her little body go limp in his arms, and his heart jumps up into his throat. Sansa has come to see what the commotion is about, and her face drains of color when she sees her poor niece. “Fetch Maester Tarly,” Jon orders, trying to keep his voice steady. “Now!”

Jon paces back and forth the entire time Sam does his examination, and Sansa remains in a chair by the hearth. She reaches out for him a few times, trying to offer her brother some sort of comfort, but he shakes her off at every attempt.  

Finally, Sam pulls them both aside, leaving Gilly to keep watch of the unconscious girl. “I think it’s Greywater fever.”

“You think?” Jon asks a little too harshly. “Or you know?”

“Jon,” Sansa gasps. “Please. Sam is just trying to help.”

He takes a deep breath and covers his face with his hands. “I’m sorry for snapping, this is just…” He trails off, unable to get the words out. Rhaella is his daughter, his pride and joy, the only child he will ever have – if he were to lose her like he lost her mother, he does not know if he would be able to survive it. Going through life after losing Daenerys and Rhaella both would be like walking around without a heart in his chest. It wouldn’t be living, it would just be existing. It wouldn’t be a life.

Sam clamps a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to say it, I know.”

Jon blinks away the tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He can’t cry right now – he is the King, and he has to be strong, for if he falls apart everyone else will fall apart. “Will she live?”

“I wish I had a definite answer,” Sam tells him sadly. “But it’s impossible to say. She is running a high fever, and her little body can’t handle it. That is why she’s unconscious. If her fever goes down soon and she wakes up, then I’m confident in her chances.” He doesn’t voice the other scenario, but he doesn’t have to – Jon already knows.

_If her fever doesn’t break soon, then she’ll never wake up._

_Then she’ll die._

Rhaella’s fever rages on for the next three days and three nights. Sansa orders the servants to make cold compresses all hours of the day, in hopes of bringing the little princess’s fever down. Sam checks Rhaella every hour, but there are no good or bad developments, just more of the same. Through it all, Jon rarely leaves his daughter’s bedside, forgoing all other responsibilities and affairs of state so that he can hold Rhaella’s hand. Gilly and Missandei both bring him food, but he can barely keep anything down other than an occasional cup of tea. Bran has the servants carry him upstairs at night, so that he can watch Rhaella while Jon sleeps, but rest does not come easy to him either. For three nights he sleeps for only a few hours off and on, his mind too plagued by thoughts of Rhaella’s condition to relax, before he inevitably gives in and returns to his post again.

“I am worried about you,” Sansa says to him as she returns with another damp cloth to wet Rhaella’s brow. “Should I ask Sam for something to make you sleep?”

“No,” is his immediately reply. “I cannot sleep. I will be by her side until the end." Whatever that end may be.

As the moon rises again on the third night, Jon is alone in his daughter’s bedchamber, Rhaella’s grey eyes firmly closed, the rising and falling of her little chest the only proof that she is alive at all. Gingerly, he lifts her hand to his lips and presses a kiss to the underside of her palm. She does not wake or even stir.

He’s spent the past three days trying to be strong, to have faith, but now as reality hits him like a smack in the face, Jon can feel a tear slip down his cheek, then another. “You have to keep fighting, Rhaella.” He finds himself saying, even though he’s not sure that she can hear him. “I know that it’s hard, but you have to fight. You may be small, but you’re one of the strongest people I know, because you have Daenerys Targaryen’s blood in your veins, and that makes you a survivor. The Gods threw so many challenges at your mother, ever since she was a girl, and she kept fighting until her very last breath. That’s what I need you to do, all right? I need you to survive. Because you are my little dragon girl and I…” His voice breaks. “I cannot bear to lose you. I would rather die a thousand painful deaths than ever see you hurt. I love you more than my own life, Rhaella.”

The tears are flowing freely now, and for the first time in three days he lets it all out. He cries for his sick daughter. He cries for his dead wife. He cries for all he has lost. 

~

Some hours later, Jon awakens from the soundest sleep he’s had in days as the early morning light begins to stream in through the window. He lifts his head and he realizes that he fell asleep last night on his daughter’s bed, laying on top of the blankets. One of his arms is wrapped around Rhaella, and he looks at her with her silver blonde hair splayed on the pillow for several moments before he makes a realization.

She’s not in the same position she was last night.

And if he didn’t move her, that means…

He doesn’t dare to hope as he places a hand on her forehead, feeling for her temperature. She’s noticeably cooler. “Rhaella,” He whispers softly, trying to hold back another batch of tears. “Rhaella, sweetheart, wake up.”

There is no answer at first and he wonders if he is just imagining things, if all hope is lost. He lies back down, tears pricking his eyes again when he hears a small, tired voice.

“Papa?”

He’s up in an instant and when he looks over this time, he sees that Rhaella’s eyes are opening slowly, the young girl blinking furiously as she readjusts to the light. “Papa?” She mumbles again as she tries to turn her head, searching for him.

He emits a laugh, then a sob. “Papa’s right here, sweetheart. Papa never left.” He can see a weak attempt at a smile cross Rhaella’s face as their matching pairs of grey eyes meet, and he thinks his heart might beat right through his chest as he wraps both arms around his little girl, kissing every inch of her face. “Thank the Gods that you’re all right,” He whispers into her hair. “I love you so much Rhaella, do you know that?”

She burrows her face into her father’s chest in response. “I love you, Papa.”

What could be minutes or hours later – Rhaella’s recovery thoroughly distracts him from the passage of time – he hears the sound of metal hitting the floor. He turns his head and sees Missandei standing in the doorway, open-mouthed, the tea tray she dropped now lying at her feet. “Princess, you are awake!” She mumbles something in Valyrian, thanks perhaps.

“Do not worry about the mess,” Jon tells her. “Just fetch Sam, and quickly.” The woman nods and practically runs to get the maester.

Missandei returns in record time with not only Sam but Sansa as well – his sister apparently heard the news and wasted no time in coming to see her niece. Jon helps Rhaella sit up, keeping an arm around her back to steady her, as Sam examines her thoroughly for any lingering signs of illness. She is still weak, he says, but her fever is gone and she is going to survive. Jon could cry from relief. The past three days had been some of the scariest of his life, the thought of losing his daughter more terrifying to him than battling wights or traveling beyond the Wall or fighting the Night King. All of his past adventures seem small compared to what they have just survived.

“You seem to be doing much better,’’ Sam says to Rhaella. “How do you feel?”

Rhaella looks first at Sam, then at Sansa, then Missandei, lingering on each of their eager faces for a moment before she turns back to her father. “I’m hungry, Papa. I want a lemon cake.”

Jon turns away from her, his eyes meeting Sam’s, and grins spread across both their faces. Suddenly they’re laughing, and after a moment Sansa and Missandei both join in. It’s the first time they’ve laughed in what feels like a lifetime.

Rhaella tugs at her father’s sleeve. “What’s so funny?”

He shakes his head and kisses her forehead. “Oh nothing, my little dragon girl. We are just so happy that you are well.”

He immediately orders that the chef be woken up, and that morning lemon cakes are had by all.

**vi.**

A few months after her illness, Rhaella begins begging her father to take her to Dragonstone.

“I want to see the dragons, Papa.” She begs. “Please, please, _please_.”

Jon is hesitant, at first. He hasn’t seen Drogon or Rhaegal since he moved the court to Winterfell. After Daenerys’s death, it had been too hard for him to look at her two dragon children, bringing him near to tears every time he thought about the memories associated with them. But he knows Dany would want Rhaella to see the dragons, would want her to grow up knowing her sort of brothers, and then Rhaella says something to him which leaves him breathless.

“When I was sick, I had a dream about Mama. We were on an island, and she took me for a dragon ride. You were there too. I want to go see Mama’s island.”

Jon immediately writes to Davos and tells him to expect a visit.

He brings only a small retinue with them to Dragonstone – Ser Jorah, Missandei, and a few servants. When Jon sees Davos, he feels his anxiety roll off of him – it’s been too long since he saw his old friend, the man who was like another father to him, and they immediately embrace.

“It’s wonderful to see you, My King.” Davos says to him. They pull apart and the Lord of Dragonstone turns his eyes to Rhaella. “Welcome to Dragonstone, Princess. Would you like to meet the dragons?”  

Later, Jon and Davos watch from afar as Rhaella excitedly watches the dragons in their pit. Jorah holds her up on his shoulders so she can see, and Rhaella keeps pulling on his hair when she wants his attention.

“Look, Ser Jorah!” She shouts with a child’s glee, pointing to Drogon. “He has so many teeth!”

Jorah only chuckles. “Yes, Princess, I see.” He’s always had a soft spot for Rhaella – probably because she reminds him of his beloved Daenerys.

Meanwhile, Davos pops open a bottle of wine for them. “It is truly good to see you, My King. I’ve gotten your letters, but it’s nice to see you with my own eyes.”

“Aye,” Jon agrees. “It’s been too long. I’m sorry I did not come sooner but…the memories here are difficult to face.”

Davos nods. “I understand.” Over by pit, Rhaella bursts out laughing when smoke comes out of Rhaegal’s nose. “I heard that the princess took ill a few moons ago. I’m glad to see that she is healthy and happy again. She looks very much like her mother.”

“Yes, she does.” Abruptly, Jon places his glass down on the table. “When Rhaella was sick, I started thinking,” He says. “About Stannis Baratheon.”

Davos gives him a curious look. “What about him?”

He can’t look at Davos’s eyes as he speaks – he knows that even after all these years it’s still a painful subject for the Onion Knight. “I was thinking about what he did. To Shireen.”

“Oh.” Davos says. It’s just one word, but Jon can hear the emotion behind it nonetheless.

“I always thought it was horrible, of course. The fact that he could do that to anyone is horrific. But after almost losing Rhaella…” He swallows the lump rising in his throat. “I hope that he is burning in Hell right now for what he did to Shireen. When I thought that Rhaella was going to die, I wanted to die too. And I will never understand how a father could condemn his own daughter to a fate like that. How he could live with himself afterward. I…I would die a thousand painful deaths without hesitation if it could save my daughter from harm. I’d choose her life over mine every time.”

Davos leans forward and clamps him on the back. There are tears in his eyes. “There is a great difference between you and Stannis, My King. The difference is that your daughter is your first priority. And that girl is lucky beyond words to have you.”

“Papa!” Rhaella yells for him, unintentionally interrupting their conversation. When he looks over he sees that Drogon has approached Rhaella and Jorah, allowing the little girl to stroke his nose. Almost like he knows she’s his sister. “Drogon let me pet him!”

He smiles, happy to see her happy. “That’s wonderful, Rhaella!”

He would walk through fire for her, his little dragon girl.

**vii.**

He’s in his study writing a letter to Lord Tyrion, inquiring about relations in the South, when young Sammy Tarly rushes in.

“Your Grace,” He says, practically panting. His blond hair is dripping with sweat, and it’s obvious he got here in a hurry. “It’s…it’s…”

Jon drops his quill, letter forgotten. He stands up and places one hand on each of the boy’s shoulders, to steady him. “Take a deep breath Sammy, and then tell me what’s wrong.”

Sam does as he’s told, but the worry does not leave his eyes. “It’s Rhaella. She’s bleeding.”

At this, Jon’s heart drops. Even though Sam is two years older than Rhaella, they’ve always played together since Rhaella was little, probably because they are two of the only children at court. Today, since spring has come again at last, they’d gone outside to practice sparring – had Rhaella been stabbed? “Take me to her.”

Young Sam leads him out to the courtyard and Jon breaks into a sprint when he sees Rhaella, lying on the ground with her dress in the mud, clutching her stomach and writhing in pain. He kneels down beside her, taking her head into his lap. “Show me where you’re bleeding, sweetheart.” 

“Sammy didn’t hurt me,” Rhaella manages to say, her lower lip trembling. “We were just playing and then suddenly my stomach hurt…”

“Sammy’s not in trouble sweetheart, I know he would never hurt you. Just show me where you’re bleeding, so I can help you.”

Still clutching her abdomen with one hand, Rhaella slowly lifts one finger and points to her leg. When Jon looks he sees a trail of blood spreading down her thigh. He knows what’s wrong.

“It’s all right, Rhaella. You’ve just had your flowering.”

It occurs to Jon that he has absolutely no idea what a girl is supposed to do when she flowers. He asks Sammy to fetch Gilly, figuring she’ll know what to do, and then picks his daughter up so he can carry her to her bedchamber.

Rhaella is only eleven. He thought he had more time to prepare himself for this.

Jon waits in the hall while Gilly talks to Rhaella and after several minutes, Gilly comes out of the room. “I gave her some rags to tie to her undergarments. When she runs out, I’ll bring her some more. If her cramps ever get too painful, get Sam and he’ll give her something for it.”

“I feel foolish for not being prepared.” Jon tells her. “I didn’t think she’d flower for several more years…”

“Noble girls tend to flower earlier, because their diets are healthier than peasant girls. It also just depends on the person really. I’ve seen girls as young as eight get their first blood, and some don’t get it until they’re sixteen.”

“Well I don’t know what I would’ve done without you, so thank you.” It’s jarring to him that Rhaella is becoming a woman. Some would say she’s old enough to be married now, but the very thought sends a shudder through him. He can’t imagine his little girl as anyone’s wife, at least not yet. He selfishly wants to keep her with him for a few years more.

After Gilly leaves, Jon tentatively enters Rhaella’s chambers. She’s sitting up on her bed, having changed into a clean dress, and working on fixing her braid. “I’m sorry for disturbing your work, Papa.”

“Nonsense – if you ever need me for any reason, big or small, I want you to send for me. No matter what I’m doing.” He crosses the room to sit down on the bed next to her, and gestures to her hair “May I?”

He sees a hint of a smile on Rhaella’s face as she turns around, allowing her father to finish her braid. She’s been able to do her hair on her own for years now, but surprisingly Jon missed having to help her with her braids. He’s missed spending these intimate moments with her, running his fingers through her silver hair…

Her hair. It reminds him so much of Daenerys.

He fashions a simple plait and Rhaella smiles as she examines her father’s handiwork in the mirror. When she looks back at him, she sees he is displeased. “Don’t you like it, Papa? Do you want to try again?”

He smiles wearily and shakes his head. “It’s not that, it’s…” He sighs. “I feel like I’ve failed you.”

Rhaella’s eyes go wide and she kneels down before him, her chin resting on his knee. “Don’t say that, Papa.”

“It’s true,” Jon persists. “There are so many things that I…that I don’t know how to do for you. I didn’t know how to help you when you flowered. I don’t know anything about dresses or needlepoint or what to do when you like a boy…Those are all the things a mother is supposed to do with her daughter. And even though I’ve tried to love you enough for both parents, there are things that I can’t do for you.”

“But you didn’t fail me, Papa.” Rhaella insists. “You taught me to read books and ride horses and shoot arrows. You let me sit on your lap and read me stories and you call me your little dragon girl. You’re the best papa in the world, and I love you.”

He pauses for a moment, then smiles. “You’re very smart for your age, you know. Much smarter than your father.” Rhaella laughs as he lifts her up onto his lap and kisses the side of her head. “And I love you too.”

**viii.**

Jon can count the number of times he’s been angry at Rhaella on one hand.

This is one of those times.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“There was nothing to tell!”

“Jorah catches you half-naked on the roof with Sammy Tarly and that’s _nothing_?”

Rhaella looks away and tugs on the strap of her dress. It’s hard for him to comprehend that his little girl is now a young woman – and Gods, she looks so much like Daenerys. Other than her Stark eyes, she is a Targaryen through and through, beautiful as her mother. He should’ve known that someone would come along and steal her away sooner or later.

He’d just hoped it would be ‘later’.

“I’ve been in love with Sam for as long as I can remember,” Rhaella confesses. “We’ve kissed a few times and done… _other things_. But he’s been a real gentleman, and my maidenhead is still intact, I assure you. I told him I wanted to save something for when we are married.”

Jon stares at her, dumbfounded. “Married?” Who said anything about getting married? 

“Yes – he was going to ask you for your blessing. Today, in fact. I’m sorry, you weren’t supposed to find out this way Papa…”

There’s a lump in Jon’s throat. She hasn’t called him Papa in years, not since she was thirteen, having switched it out for the more formal ‘Father’. “I don’t know Rhaella, you’re still very young…”

“You said it would be all right once I was sixteen.”

“I said we could _discuss_ it once you were sixteen.”

“Well, I’m sixteen.” Rhaella says stubbornly. “So let’s discuss it.”

He leans back, arms crossed over his chest, and Rhaella mimics the action. His strong-willed daughter is not going to give up easily. _Gods help me._ He thinks. “You don’t have to get married right away. You can’t take a little more time, get to know each other…”

“I’ve known Sammy since I was born, Papa. He’s been my best friend my whole life, I know him better than I know myself.”

“This is a big decision, you should sleep on it…”

“I have slept on it, many times. Sammy and I have been talking about our future together for months. This is what we both want, I am certain.”

He pauses, biting his lip. Rhaella remains standing still, waiting for the next words out of his mouth. “…Are you going to move to Horn Hill with him?”

“Is that what this is about?” She sighs, shaking her head to herself as she crosses the room to stand next to her father. She places a hand on his arm. “I will never stop being your daughter, Papa. No matter how old I am or who I’m married to, I will always be your little dragon girl.” This makes him smile. “And Sam and I have already agreed to stay at court. I’m the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, I need to learn how to rule and to make my people love me.”

“Your people already love you.”

“Not as much as they love you.”

Jon looks at her silently and brushes a loose wisp of silver hair out of her face. “I still remember the first time I held you. You were…the one thing that could bring me happiness again after everything I’d lost. I promised myself that I would always look after you, to make sure you were loved, and cared for, and safe. It’s hard for me to accept that well…you don’t need me anymore.”

“Oh Papa, don’t say that. I will _always_ need you.”

“…You promise?”

Rhaella giggles. “Yes, Papa, I promise.”

“You really love him, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Rhaella says. “I do.” But he already knows – he can see it in her eyes. Love.

He knows because he used to get the same look in his eyes when he talked about Daenerys.

Jon sighs and looks away. “Gods, you are just like your mother...”

Rhaella smiles, knowing she’s won. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He shakes his head and kisses her cheek. “Oh no,” He says. “It’s definitely not a bad thing.”

**ix.**

The night of his daughter’s wedding feast to young Sammy Tarly, Jon receives the package from Dragonstone. 

It’s later in the night and he steps outside for a moment, the cold air of early winter hitting his face as he steps out into the courtyard. He can still hear the raucous laughter coming from inside Winterfell, the celebration in full swing, but he just needs a few moments alone with his thoughts.

Rhaella truly was the most beautiful bride, with a dress as silver as her long hair. As he gave her away in the godswood, he thought about his own wedding so many moons ago. And even though it was still hard for him to accept that his little girl wasn’t a baby anymore, he was truly happy for her, and if he had to give her away to anyone he was glad it was to the youngest Tarly. He had always hoped that Rhaella would marry for love, not an alliance.

Now, Jon turns his eyes up to the sky, where it is just beginning to snow. “I hope you’re proud of her, Daenerys.” He whispers into the void. “I am.”

He stands out there alone for a few moments longer until the door opens and the older Samwell Tarly steps outside. “There you are, Jon. I was starting to wonder where you’d run off to.” He walks over to stand by his friend and king, and Jon notices that there is a box in his hands. “Can you believe that our children have married each other? We’re like family now. Someday we’ll share grandchildren.”

“Let’s not talk of grandchildren yet, my friend. I’m still getting used to the idea of Rhaella being a wife…” He trails off and nods towards the box in Sam’s hand. “What have you got there?”

“Oh, I almost forgot! This came for you! A page delivered it personally, he said it was urgent.”

Jon takes the package from Samwell and he’s surprised to find that it’s heavy. It’s about a medium height and width, wrapped plainly, and his interest is peaked when he sees where it came from. “This is from Dragonstone…”

“Davos,” Sam says. “Do you think something is wrong with the dragons?”

“I don’t know…” There is a small piece of parchment attached to the top of the box, which contains a simple message. Jon’s confusion only increases as he reads the note aloud. “Like dragons, we do not lay down and die in the face of adversity. We adapt. We move on. Signed, Davos.” He looks to Sam. “What do you think he means by that?”

Sam shrugs. “Hell if I know. Open it, why don’t you?”

Carefully, Jon tears the wrapping on the box and peels back the lid. He immediately loses his breath. Inside, sit three large, scaled eggs – one is grey, one is red, and one is a sort of mix between the two. He looks to Sam. “I don’t understand. Drogon and Rhaegal are the only two dragons left…”

Suddenly, Sam’s eyes widen with realization. “We adapt…” He says, repeating the words from Davos’s note. “Jon, how much do you know about dragons?”

“I don’t know, an average amount I suppose…”  

“You see, dragons don’t have the same concept of male and female as we do.” Sam explains. “Every dragon is assumed to be a male, unless it lays an egg – then it’s proven to be female. In fact, some have argued that dragons can change their sex at will, depending on the needs of the species.”

Jon’s eyes go wide. “So that means…”

“Drogon and Rhaegal are now Drogon and Rhaegalla. Or Drogona and Rhaegal, who knows which one of them changed…”

He looks down at the three dragon eggs in his hands, proof that the species will go on, and he laughs to himself. “It seems there will be more dragons after all.”

That night, the King kneels before his newlywed daughter and presents her with three dragon eggs as a wedding present. That’s how Rhaella of Houses Targaryen and Stark, Daughter of King Jon and Queen Daenerys, Wife of Samwell Tarly the Younger, Princess of Dragonstone, and Heir to the Seven Kingdoms, becomes a Mother of Dragons.

And everything comes full circle.

**Author's Note:**

> Oddly enough I wrote this chapter in reverse chronological order. It was weird. 
> 
> Next chapter is more Daenerys centric.


End file.
